In the End
by JennyLB
Summary: Joss Carter has a horrific decision to make: save the life of New York City's longtime Senator or the life of John Reese, the man she has come to respect. Reese wants to make the decision for her because, after all, in the end everyone is alone and no one ever comes to save you.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: _One of the Good Guys_

"Mr. Reese," Harold Finch spoke into his cell phone, "we have another number."

It was a few minutes past 7 a.m. on a chilly late-winter morning.

"Another number," John Reese parroted. "Guess I'm not shocked."

It had only been nine hours since they wrapped up their previous number. Reese had taken quite a beaten, was sleep deprived, and was physically exhausted. But he was trained to respond when called. And that's exactly how he responded to his boss in this instance.

Harold Finch noted that in his mind.

John paused to see if his boss would add information. There was nothing immediately.

Finch pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at it to see if they were still connected. He saw they were then spoke, "When can you be here?"

"Shortly," John answered.

John Reese was always a man of few words. Soft spoken and sullen, John had been trained in his former life in the Army Special Forces and CIA to keep his thoughts, questions, and opinions to himself. He spoke only when he believed he needed to.

"Try to get here as quickly as possible," Finch said.

"Okay, Mr. Finch," John responded.

Finch was startled by the noise coming from the hall leading into the room in the old abandoned library where they planned their operations and where he sat during their call. He could hear John's voice in the phone and echoing across the room.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch said, doing a whole-body turn to see the cause of the rustling noise, seeing John coming into his line of sight. "You startled me. I didn't know you had arrived already."

"Finch," John nodded, smiling slightly and looking around the room for a new picture tacked to the wall. He always said Harold Finch's last name in lieu of a _hello_ or a _good morning_.

Old pictures with strings leading to social security numbers adorned the dusty, grey room. They were reminders of people on the Inconsequential List before Harold Finch had heeded the concerns of his best friend and partner, Nathan Ingram, who had himself found his way on that particular list and subsequent demise.

Harold Finch, suffering the effects of a spinal cord injury from a car accident that he had never spoken about with anyone, tried to withhold as much information as he could because he knew that knowledge was dangerous—particularly knowledge of The Machine. He learned that the hard way with Nathan.

Their car accident two years ago was no accident. Nathan had died, and Finch pretended the same fate for himself. Anyone with knowledge of The Machine wouldn't live to tell about it. So Finch tried to protect Reese as he had done years ago with his fiancée, Grace, and now Nathan's son, Will.

Finch, an intensely private man, shared nothing outside the job with Reese. He knew that Reese was gathering Intel on him, which he didn't like but respected. In Finch's opinion, any decent agent who had been lied to and deceived as much as John Reese had, had every right to thoroughly investigate everything in his world, which included him now. He also knew that there was no way Reese would ever find out everything about him.

Harold Finch had been Harold Wren in his earlier days at MIT. When moving to the next phase of his life (making lots of money), Harold Wren then changed his name to Harold Finch. Yes, he had something for birds. His days prior to being Harold Wren were details of an earlier life he had told no one—not even Nathan.

Finch, however, knew everything about this man before him who preferred the alias John Reese over all the others he had. He had been following Reese for quite some time and believed he was perfect for the job of saving people whose numbers were picked by The Machine and placed on the Inconsequential List. John, too, had been double-crossed by the very ones he worked for, had an attempt on his life, and pretended to be dead.

In that respect, John Reese and Harold Finch were the perfect partners…whoever they really were.

"You look terrible, Mr. Reese," Finch stated matter of factly. He was careful not to put too much emotion in his words of concern for his new partner. Reese always rebuffed words of concern for him.

Finch was beginning to regard Reese the same way he thought of Nathan—even on one occasion while tripping on ecstasy referring to him as Nathan. That was the highest form of compliment in Finch's mind because he regarded Nathan with the highest esteem. While high, Finch recognized that Reese hadn't taken advantage of the situation to pry into his boss's personal business. For that—and of course for his steadfast commitment to the job—Harold Finch had grown to care about his new chosen partner.

Reese stood before him silent. There wasn't really a counter to the obvious statement of how bad he looked. He hadn't really thought about it. The military taught him how to compartmentalize everything…pain, love, fright, sorrow, happiness…and focus only on the task at hand.

So, Reese was conditioned to apply bandages only when he needed to stop blood flow, treat only the wounds that looked infected, and run hard even with bullet holes in his body. He was particularly adept, however, at not feeling emotions…one of the best the US military had ever seen.

Until he met Jessica.

With Jessica, John Reese had learned to feel love. Reese had no family and didn't know what love felt like. Her love for him wouldn't retreat into a tidy little box in his brain. It was ever-present, cloaking him like skin.

So, he was going to give it all up for her.

But then on September 11, 2001, the twin towers came down.

Reese's obligation to his country pulled him away from Jessica and back into the service. He told her not to wait for him because he was prepared to die for his country. But five years later, John Reese found himself in the CIA as a special operations agent who carried out every single assignment given to him—no matter who he had been asked to assassinate or how brutal the death was scripted to be. He kept his feelings for Jessica underneath his skin.

Nine years after the towers came crashing down, Jessica had unexpectedly reached out to John for help. He told her he would come immediately, but the CIA rejected his request for a family emergency leave. They were sending him and his partner, Agent Kara Stanton, to China to retrieve a package. That's all they were told. His CIA boss, Mark Snow, quickly reminded Reese that he had no family, thus no family emergency.

John had called Jessica back but had to leave her a voice message promising that he would get back to her as soon as he returned from that job.

But the CIA had other plans.

Their mission was a death trap; the partners were supposed to take out one another. Reese couldn't do it, couldn't betray his partner—no matter what she had done to be compromised. But Agent Stanton was a good soldier and didn't feel the same allegiance toward her partner.

With his back to her, Agent Stanton shot John on the side of his lower back. John had laughed at the irony of each agent being completely deceived…neither one realizing until that point that they were inconsequential to the United States military. The CIA had wanted them both dead for some unknown reason. The military had lied to each of them; neither one had actually been compromised. Holding his bloody side, Reese looked from the hilltop where he had run to get away from the trap set by his own government. The building that housed the package—and where Stanton still was—burst into flames as the US military discharged their bombs. They wanted everyone and everything associated with the packaged wiped from the face of the earth.

At that very moment, John Reese knew he could trust no one and realized that he was then completely alone. There was no one who would come to save him.

So he would be among the dead.

After recovering for a short period of time, John had covertly found his way back into the states. He immediately went to Jessica. But he was too late.

Jessica was dead.

John had failed her.

He had seen and done a lot in his years of service to the United States military. But it was Jessica who had been the one person who connected him to the world. She made him feel alive amongst all the death. She had made him feel that he could be a better person despite all the bad things he had done. She made him believe he was doing right by his country.

Upon hearing the news of Jessica's death, John Reese actually felt that something had switched on in his mind.

The human brain is funny that way. People can accept doing bad things for good reasons. But when the line between good and bad is no longer visible and one no longer knows the difference between the two, then the brain begins to question everything. John Reese questioned everything he had ever done in the name of the United States military service.

As a result, John Reese regarded himself as a bad person.

He didn't think he would ever find that good person again, and he questioned whether it mattered anymore.

Reese acknowledged that the current job he had with Harold Finch might appear as if he were on a road toward redemption. But the truth of the matter was that he needed a job and didn't believe in redemption. He couldn't live any longer without a sense of place or purpose.

Looking up at Reese's bruised and gashed face, Finch decided to focus on the number. He dropped his head to the papers still resting in the printer. If Reese wasn't fully aware of how rough he looked from their previous job and wasn't asking for time off to recuperate, then he would pretend that all was well. He knew that Reese had been trained to be a tool and to think about the job and only the job. In that regard he felt sorry for Reese but also found this trait very useful.

"This one is serious, Mr. Reese, so I'm glad you're not needing time to heal from your wounds," Finch stated, pulling out the papers with information about their latest case from the printer drawer.

John Reese stood still before his boss waiting for his marching orders. His inquisitive facial expression spoke what he didn't articulate aloud.

"This one is more serious because it's a United States Senator," Finch said, thrusting the papers into John's hands.

John looked down at them. "Carmichael Smith. United States Senator for 13 years."

"Yes, and one who hasn't been bought and paid for by HR or Elias…or even the CIA," Finch emphatically stated.

"Oh, so one of the good guys," John answered.

"One of the good guys…" Finch trailed off.

John could see that this information was affecting his boss. "Don't worry Finch. I'll keep Senator Smith alive. We need all the good ones we can get."

John Reese turned to leave the library. Finch watched him as he walked away. John always kept his promises. So did Harold, who had promised Reese he would never lie to him. He knew that above all, John Reese needed the truth. So Finch always kept his word.

As John walked down the hall, Finch noticed the slight limp in John's stride. Finch knew that no matter how hard John fought to compartmentalize his feelings—both physical and emotional—that sometimes there was an outward sign betraying him that John wasn't even aware his brain had allowed to escape. Harold decided to let the limp go for now so John could set out to protect their senator.

John stepped out into the honking and squealing streets of New York City, the area he and his billionaire boss plotted to save whomever was connected to the number The Machine gave them…never knowing if the person was the victim or perpetrator. Their mission was a leap of faith with hopefully a ripple effect. Saving good people would ultimately render positive effects on their society.

And in his current job with Finch, John questioned whether saving perpetrators outweighed the positives of previous cases. He didn't know if there was some type of cosmic score card the world kept. So, he believed it was best not to even think about it. He was a trained tool, and that's who he was.

This job became a payback for John Reese. He had no reason to believe his county. Nothing was certain any longer.

He hit homicide Detective Joss Carter's number on his cell phone's speed dial.

She answered with a loud whisper after four rings. She was out of breath, which meant she was in a place where she couldn't talk to him and had to go into the ladies room or hallway.

"Who's in trouble now, John?" Joss Carter said into her cell phone with her heavy New York accent.

"Carter, I'm going to need your help on this one, please," Reese said.

John Reese always got straight to the point. It suited her just fine that he never started their exchanges with pleasantries. When John Reese called her, Joss Carter knew it was important and timely. She had grown to respect this man named John Reese. She also felt completely grateful because he had saved both her and her son Taylor's lives. At first hunting him, Carter saw firsthand how manipulative their own military could be as they used her to hunt him down and shoot him like an animal. She had betrayed him then, believing she was doing the right thing for her country. She knew better now.

Bottom line: the Powers That Be would stop at nothing to advance their own cause. People were expendable. John Reese may have been expendable to the United States military, but he wasn't to her. She and her son would both be dead if it hadn't been for John Reese. Whoever the hell he really was was irrelevant to her now. She saw a good man, and that's all that really mattered. When he called, she knew he really needed her and she would go to help him.

"It's Senator Smith. I think I'm going to need you on this one," John answered. He knew she wouldn't ask how he knew that information. She had stopped asking, which was good for him because he wasn't entirely sure either exactly how Harold Finch was able to get this information. He knew The Machine was the billions of cameras ever present around them. He knew there was a phone call to Finch at a public phone booth. He knew The Machine pieced together premeditation—not crimes of passion. Beyond that, Reese didn't yet know or understand how all the different pieces fit together and why his new boss was so personally secretive.

"Senator Smith?" Carter verified.

"Yes," Reese answered. "And he's one of the good ones, Carter."

"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.

"Can you do some digging for me?" John asked. By digging, John really meant for her and Fusco to network with colleagues and go as deep as possible into the police database to dig up anything that might help them understand what kind of trouble the good Senator might be finding himself getting into.

"I'll get back with you when I have something," Carter answered.

"Thanks," John said, then clicked off. He had always been polite to her no matter the circumstance.

45 minutes later, John's cell phone rang. Finch's name showed on his caller ID. He then realized he had forgotten to click on his ear piece.

"Do you have something for me, Harold?" John asked.

"Our Senator is slated to be at NYU's basketball game this evening. He's being honored as an Alum. Mr. Reese, I don't have to tell you that if someone wants to take out Senator Smith, then halftime at a public college basketball game is just ripe with opportunity," Finch agitatedly spoke into his cell phone.

"Got it, Mr. Finch," Reese answered. "I'll be there to stop whoever is after Senator Smith." John Reese put down the binoculars he was using to gather Intel on Senator Smith. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening. The Senator seemed to be going about his normal business and probably had no clue he was in peril.

John Reese was determined to save the senator, or he would die trying.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: _Connection_

Several hours into his surveillance, John began to realize how fatigued and hungry he was. He never left a job, though, to attend to his own personal needs. John dialed Finch without thinking about clicking on the ear piece. He had become so accustomed to wearing it that sometimes he forgot it was even in his right ear. "Finch, can you get me as much info as possible about the security measures they'll be taking tonight at the NYU game?" Reese asked.

"On it, Mr. Reese," Harold answered. "I'll send it to your phone."

There was another pause in their conversation, but he could see that John was still connected. He then heard a muffled sound from John's end. "Is there something else, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked.

Silence.

"Mr. Reese… is there something else?" Finch asked again. After a short pause with no sound coming from the other end, Finch asked again. "John! John…are you there? Is something wrong?" Harold Finch yelled into his phone.

He could see that they were still connected. Finch grew increasingly anxious.

After another minute, a voice broke the silent connection between them.

"Your man's okay. We won't kill him. Our boss sees to that. Has some irrational allegiance to him," the voice stated.

Harold then knew it was one of Elias's men.

"We'll send you information shortly about your man. But plans must proceed with the Senator." Then the connection between Reese and Finch was lost.

Harold Finch quickly dialed his phone. "Carter!" Finch shrieked into the phone. "I need your help now. It's John. He's been taken by some of Elias's men. That's all I know."

"When did this happen?" Carter snapped back. "I just spoke with him an hour or so ago."

"Just now," Finch answered, aggravated by what he thought was a stupid question. What did it matter when it happened anyway. John needed her help, and he needed her to act immediately.

"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.

"I'll try and make contact with him to see if he knows where he is. I'll send you the information," Finch fretfully said to Carter.

"Okay, I'll go help our mutual friend," Carter answered. "Send me the information when you get it."

When he dialed Reese's cell phone, it was dead. Apparently Reese's ear piece was still off. At that moment, Finch had no way to contact his partner.

Twenty minutes later, John was awakened by the jolts of the car, and he was thrown toward the back of what he supposed was the trunk of a four door sedan. It smelled like cooked cabbage, diesel fuel, and tires where he was. He wanted to wretch but held back. He could feel something tied against his neck that was covering his head. The jostling wasn't helping his already sore body and head. His arms were clasped together behind his back by what felt like oily, moist chains. His feet were restrained, but he couldn't tell from feel what bound them together. He could hear the muffled voices in the car. To possibly be on a level playing field with these men when the time was right to get himself out of this predicament, Reese strained to make out what they were saying.

Nothing.

He rode that way for awhile until he finally had to succumb to sleep. The diesel smell stung his nostrils and throat.

Sometime later he awoke to punches and jabs and then being pulled out of the trunk. Reese inhaled deeply to try and clear his lungs of the diesel fuel. Falling to his knees, John was unable to walk due to the leg restraints. He then felt the side of his face against grass and what smelled in the distance like horse shit. Where the hell had they taken him? They had to have been out of the city now.

"On your feet!" a loud gruff voice yelled from above as he could feel hands griping his upper arms until he landed on his feet. Then the restraints were removed from his ankles with what felt like a dull knife making upward and downward jabs. John wriggled against the restraints to remove them completely from his legs.

"We've got orders to keep you alive, but we weren't told that we couldn't rough you up a little," the same gruff voice shouted into his ear. John Reese didn't move or even flinch. He was conditioned to respond appropriately—statuesque— to this type of treatment.

"Looks like someone beat us to it," another man's voice snorted sarcastically as he withdrew the black hood that had been tied around John's head, revealing John's already bruised and gashed face.

"No pun intended," another man yelled as he laughed loudly into John's face, hitting him across his mouth.

The five men continued to laugh as they each took whacks at his head and torso.

He made no cries for help or pleas to stop. He knew such verbalizations would only be a waste of his breath and energy. He knew they would stop only when they were damn good and ready.

"Enough!" shouted a figure emerging from the barn behind them. He recognized the voice. It was Carl Elias.

The men stopped immediately.

John breathed heavily, sucking in as much air as possible into his lungs. His ribs hurt. Hell, just about every muscle in his body was taut with stress trying to compensate for his pain. He fell to his knees, his legs no longer able to hold up his large frame.

"Get him on his feet," Elias ordered.

The men obeyed. John Reese and Carl Elias stood facing each other.

"Hello John," Elias said.

"Elias," John nodded.

"We need you occupied tonight," Elias said.

John didn't respond. He had already made the connection between Elias and Senator Smith's number being called up by The Machine.

"Why, Elias?" John asked. He presumed it was because Senator Smith wouldn't play nice, but he wanted Elias to say it aloud. He wasn't sure what difference it made, but he just wanted Elias to say it…to own it.

One of Elias's men backhanded John across the back of head. "Why do you care?" the man asked.

"I'll handle this," Elias said to the man.

John squinted at Elias. The bright afternoon sun hurt his eyes but wasn't enough to kill the chill in the air. John felt cold.

"Come on, John, let's go inside to get out of this cold," Elias said.

Two of the men dragged Reese by his arms inside the barn. They roughly set him down on a wooden chair resting beside a large hole dug into the center of the ground inside the barn. John moved his jaw back and forth to try and loosen it up. He was beginning to get worried but resigned himself to the fact that he may not make it out alive from this situation. He calmed himself by thinking about many of the dire situations he had gotten himself out of in the past. It was never hopeless.

He thought about the promise he had made to Harold that he would protect the Senator. He was a man of his word; he had to uphold his promise to his partner.

The men circled around his perimeter as Elias approached him with a thin silver rod attached to a wire. The wire led back to what appeared to be a computer monitor. John had the strong impulse to jump up from the chair to physically fight off the men circling him to try and escape this threat.

Looking around the room to eye the sights for an escape route, John noted four windows and a closed back door in addition to the front door he had been dragged through. Elias could easily tell what John Reese was attempting to do.

"No worries, John," Elias said. "We're not here to kill you, but we will kill Senator Smith. And you won't stop us. You see, there is actually nothing you can do to stop us. I will see to that." Elias stood in front of John, completely calm and composed.

John concentrated to keep his heart on a steady beat. Elias took several steps forward, closer to John. He held up the silver rod in front of Reese.

"We are just going to connect you to this controller. If the controller thinks you are trying to wriggle loose from it before the proper time, it will release a lethal dose of poison into your body. If it continues to be imbedded in your shoulder, then you will be just fine. As soon as our little task is completed, we will activate the off switch," Elias said, pointing to the monitor-like machine. Elias continued, "You can then safely remove the rod and be on your way."

John stared at him.

"Don't make me have to kill you, John. But you know I will if I have to," Elias warned.

In an unexpected instance, Elias jabbed the silver rod into John's left shoulder. John screamed. Blood ran down his chest. He grabbed the rod with his right hand and squeezed his shoulder. He could feel blood bubbling up under his fingers. Pain shot down his left arm, his dominant arm.

Elias removed the latex gloves he had been wearing and tossed them to the ground. John boxed up the pain and put it in a different place in his brain so he could concentrate on the men continuing to hold the perimeter around him.

He then faked a complacent nod at Elias.

Elias was smarter than that, though. He knew John Reese well enough to know that he would die fighting any adversary. He was a talented man—one that Elias hoped would join him one day.

Elias turned around toward the front entrance of the barn and took several steps toward the door. Then he abruptly turned around, smirking at John. "Well, John, I guess you think I'm naïve to your incredible talents and survivor instinct," Elias said.

John didn't move or even acknowledge that he understood what Elias was saying.

"Gentlemen," Elias said, turning halfway away from John and pointing to the hole that had been dug next to the wooden chair where John was seated. Despite the pain he was feeling in his shoulder and down his left arm, John maintained his upright position.

John's brain registered the extreme danger he was in. Positioned to leap onto the men, John heard Elias yell from where he was standing. "Careful, John. This is not a hoax. This rod will emit a deadly dose of poison if it comes loose before it's time to come out," Elias shouted.

John dropped his eyes to his lap. He felt disheartened but wasn't ready to give up. He just wanted Elias's men to think he had given up. They would be less careful that way.

"Don't forget, John, that you're tethered. Make no mistake that I can and will kill you, but I'm giving you a chance to save your own life by simply taking a little nap in that box. You look tired…just take a little nap right there," Elias said as he pointed down into the hole to reveal the wooden coffin-like box.

John could hear his own breathing louder than normal. He always had difficulties being confined in small spaces.

"Don't worry, John. You'll have adequate oxygen in there until after our little job is completed this evening at the halftime show. Once it is, then the controller will be turned off and you can safely remove the rod and get yourself out of this box of yours. You'll need both of your fists to bust yourself out of there, so I hope you won't attempt escape until you can safely remove the rod," Elias cautioned.

John took in Elias's words.

Elias causally turned around and headed to the front entrance of the old barn.

John sat motionless, scanning through his mind trying to settle on a plan to escape this situation and get to the Sports Center to save the Senator. He simply didn't have time for this shit.

Elias stopped a few feet from the front entrance. With his back still to Reese, Elias shouted, "Unless, of course, our little plan is foiled." Elias then held up something he had fished out of his jacket pocket.

John squinted to see what Elias was holding up.

"That's right, John. It's a remote control device. If our little job is compromised, then I will have no choice but to hit this switch to kill you. It's your choice. Make no mistake about that, John. I am prepared to kill you regardless of how much I like and respect you," Elias concluded.

John continued to sit expressionless and motionless.

"Make sure he's not going anywhere boys," Elias yelled back at his men as he retreated through the front door of the old barn. That was their queue to incapacitate John Reese even more than they and someone else previously had done.

One man punched John in the stomach. John grunted, trying hard to resist doubling over.

Popping his head back into the barn, Elias warned, "Gentlemen, make sure the dispenser stays in place. We certainly don't want anything dreadful to happen to a man as talented as Mr. Reese, now do we?"

Elias's men nodded at their boss. "Yes, sir," they answered.

John knew that Elias's men couldn't care less about the silver rod staying in place in his shoulder— and his fate if it didn't. What they did care about, however, was pleasing their boss. So John felt confident that they would not intentionally kill him-just wish he were dead.

One man came up from behind John and pulled his arms back behind the chair, prying his hand loose from holding the silver rod in place. That action made John's body go flush against the chair's back. The broken spindles jabbed him in the back. The men each took several turns hitting him on his head, face, and torso. They then switched over to kicking his legs. John had experienced quite a few beatings in his life, but it had been a long time since he felt that much pain all over his body. After some time had passed, John allowed himself to drift into an altered state.

Noticing that John had passed out, Elias's men grabbed him and shoved him down into the wooden box. One man held the wire connecting the silver rod in John's shoulder to the controller. He appeared to his comrades as if he were fishing. They made a joke to him that he had caught a big one. They jabbed John in his ribs and laughed as they called him Moby Dick, stressing _dick_.

John was completely surprised that any of the five would know that reference. "You aren't as stupid as you look," John sarcastically said.

His comment angered the men, who kicked at him several more times as he lay in the box. He was now done, not having much fight left in him. So he stopped resisting. He felt the pain of their beating and knew Elias wasn't lying about the poisonous rod inserted into his shoulder.

"But just in case you think you can get out of there quickly, we're gonna shovel the dirt on top of your pauper's coffin," one of Elias's men taunted.

John thought to himself that maybe they were as stupid as they looked. However, he thought it best to keep that statement to himself. He had done a quick analysis of the depth of the hole that the wooden box was in and calculated it to be a little more than a foot. Obviously, the dirt was spite and revenge, not a deterrent. But the whole thing just really pissed him off. "Damn poisonous rod!" he muttered to himself. He knew that had a poisonous rod not been jammed in his shoulder, he could have been out of that box before the men had time to even get their car warmed up. He could have easily escaped—from the men, from the wooden box, from even being buried alive. Wounds and pain were irrelevant. Poison was not.

The men laughed at the thought of this battered man actually being able to bust out of anything in the condition they had put him in. They hoped he would die. They hated the obligation and allegiance their boss felt toward this vigilante. But most of all, they reviled the respect Carl Elias had for this unknown player in their city.

John lay still in the box as he heard the earth sprawl on top of what might very well be his casket if he couldn't pull himself together. Blowing out some sharp breaths, he listened to try and determine whether the dirt had stopped being cast on top of the box. The rod in his shoulder pulsed pain down into his left arm. It angered him that his dominant, stronger arm was being fed a methodical dose of pain. Having to hold the rod in place with his right hand caused a slight handicap for him.

He gritted through the pulsing pain and formed a fist with his left hand and slammed it into the top of the wooden box. "Shit!" he screamed. He closed his eyes to try to modulate his emotions to conserve his strength for the task at hand and be able to think straight. He focused on staying calm and delivering one hit at a time until the wooden surface would give in and crack.

His mind suddenly flashed onto that moment in 2006 in the airport when he ran into Jessica. He had told her about his new job with the CIA. She had told him she was engaged. His heart clenched inside his chest. He hadn't expected her to wait for him, but the realization that she was marrying another man made him numb.

He was hurt, though he couldn't understand his feelings. "In the end, we're all alone…and no one's coming to save you," he had said to her.

Jessica had responded, "You don't believe that…not really."

He did.

Jessica had asked him to tell her to wait for him and she would. "Say those words," she begged.

He stood, staring through her, paralyzed to being able to articulate words from his feelings. He wasn't used to such intense feelings for another human being.

"Wait for me," he finally said, after she had walked out of ear shot. That moment six years prior had been burned into his consciousness.

John was brought back to reality as the skin from his knuckles tore loose. He concentrated hard to be able to relax his back and breathe in and out for several moments. He finally had to succumb to the low oxygen level in the box and the pain assailing his entire body.

When he awoke a little later, he remembered Finch. Curling his left arm up toward his ear, he clicked on his ear piece to establish a connection with Finch.

"Finch," John whispered, trying to conserve as much of his strength as possible to be able to bust himself out of the wooden box and dig himself out of the hole Elias's men had buried him in. "I'm in trouble."

"Where are you, Mr. Reese?" Finch worriedly asked.

"In a wooden box buried in a one foot hole in a horse barn," Reese answered.

Finch knew better than to ask Reese if he were joking. Reese didn't joke. He used sarcasm and hyperbole, but he never joked.

"Now that your earpiece is on, I can track your GPS and alert Carter to your whereabouts," Finch answered in a reassuring tone. "Are you okay?" Finch asked.

"I'm still alive," Reese answered in a barely audible whisper. "Tell Carter to go Senator Smith," Reese implored.

"Okay, Mr. Reese," Finch answered. "I will be right there."

John didn't respond.

Finch could hear John's rasping breaths in his phone.

His GPS tracking positioned John about 45 minutes away in upper Westchester County.

Never before had Finch been so appreciative of the little mechanical device that bound him and his partner together. "Thank God," Finch whispered into his phone.

John could hear Finch's panic-stricken voice. "Harold, calm down. Don't get yourself all worked up," he said in his usual satirical tone when dealing with Finch under circumstances like these.

Finch's heart raced, and his hands shook. He needed to go to John, but he knew he needed help in getting his partner physically out of the grave Elias had put him in. Finch knew his physical limitations. "John, I need to hang up for a few minutes, but I'll call you right back," Finch said.

Finch dialed Carter to give her John's location. He then called John immediately back. He could hear John's labored breathing. His short, shallow breaths being transmitted over to Finch through the phone line concerned him greatly. He wasn't going to lose another partner.

"Stay with me, John! You don't have to talk. I just want to hear that you're still alive!" Finch said as he grabbed his coat and headed to the door.

"Okay," John answered, as he balled up his left hand again to strike at the cracks beginning to form on the wooden box in which he was trapped. "I'll stay with you."

Harold Finch reassuringly listened to John breathe as he sped through New York to get to his partner, his friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: _White Noise_

John continued to pound his battered left fist into the cracks he was making on the top of the wooden coffin-like box he was in. Pound after pound got him closer to freedom. He continued to keep his right hand on top of the rod to hold it in place. Blood from his knuckles ran down his hand and arm and onto his face. He could feel the blood drip onto his eye lashes and brow. Finally getting his hand through the box, John began pushing upward through the dirt—all the while never removing his right hand from its place on his left shoulder. He knew Elias was a man of his word.

Carter arrived at the old farm house in upper Westchester County. It hadn't been inhabited since the real estate market went on decline several years ago. She located the barn way in the back. Finch had told her to look for a barn and that John would be buried in a one-foot deep hole in the center of the ground inside it.

Quietly making her way to the old barn, Carter sneaked around back to peer into one of the windows. Cobwebs tangled into her hair. She heard and saw nothing from that vantage point. She took the safety off her gun and tiptoed inside. She had told Fusco to wait at the Sports Center for her, but he would have to wait a little longer. He was good that way. He would listen to her orders and obey.

Carter eased her way into the back door of the barn on full alert. She knew she wasn't able to contend with Elias's men alone, but she needed Fusco to stay at the Sports Center to help save their Senator. Finch had told her he was on his way, but honestly, he was a small, somewhat handicapped man. What could he possibly do to help her get John out of this situation? She was tough and strong, so she decided to do this on her own.

She heard nothing, no movements, no voices. So she decided she was in the clear. Looking around the ground, she saw what Finch described would look like a grave. As she walked forward, she was startled by something red and dirty emerging from the hole. Eyeing the thing coming up out of the dirt, she realized then that it was a bloody hand and arm. It had to have been John's. She reached down and grabbed the bloody hand and started to pull.

At first, the hand retracted from her touch.

"John, it's me. It's Carter. I'm here to help you," Carter yelled down into the dirt.

The hand grabbed back, and Carter continued to pull as hard as she could until she finally saw John Reese's head and torso emerge from the dirt.

She saw him holding his left shoulder near his neck with his right hand and thought maybe he had been severely injured and was attempting to stop the bleeding. Then some dirt fell away and she could see that John was connected to a wire that ran to a computer monitor on a shelf near the freshly dug shallow grave.

"Oh, John. What have you gotten yourself into?" She sympathetically asked. Her question was rhetorical; she needed no answer. She knew what he had gotten into.

Elias.

Carl Elias, the bastard son of New York mobster Don Gianni Moretti, grew up in the foster care system after his mother was murdered. Being promised a place in Moretti's organization as long as he would remain loyal, tenacious, and capable, Elias soon realized that his own father had double-crossed him and had ordered his execution—just as he had ordered his mother's. As retaliation, Elias bombed Moretti's car, killing him and Moretti's legitimate son—his half brother. In Elias's case, blood wasn't thicker than water. He would stop at nothing to reunite the five mob families and take over the organized crime business in New York. He felt gratitude toward John for saving his life, but he mainly respected this man's extraordinary talents. He would some day have John Reese by his side.

In about 20 minutes, Carter had helped John fully reach the surface. He lay on his side on the ground near the hole, continuing to hold the silver rod in place. Carter panted from fatigue. He was a big man, and helping him to pull himself out of that hole was exhausting.

"John," Carter finally was able to say after her panting slowed.

She saw his eyes move to look up to her. His body continued to lie perfectly still. He was a bloody and dirty mess. She saw his body shaking and realized he was either cold or in shock—or both.

"Okay, wait right here. I'm going to look for some blankets," Carter said to him. She was fearful of touching him until she knew the extent of his injuries.

"No," she heard whispered from John's lips.

She paused, wondering if she had imagined that.

"You need to go save Senator Smith," Reese said to her, still lying on his side but his eyes looking straight up at her. She had never seen him this way before.

"What?" Carter asked. "You need help. I can't leave you."

"No," John whispered, turning his head away from her line of sight. "I'll be okay. Go to the Senator. You need to save Senator Smith."

"John!" Finch screamed into John's ear.

John ignored Finch. Nothing Finch could say would dissuade him from urging Carter to leave him to go and save Senator Smith. The Senator was a man of upstanding character. His service to their state proved enhancements in their public education system, transportation, and the crack down on organized crime. His death would surely bring about Elias's reign of terror in New York.

"I'll call Fusco at the Sports Center and tell him to go in and gather the Security Team and get the Senator out of there now. We'll get him out of there, John. He'll be okay. Let's concentrate on you," Carter negotiated.

"No," John repeated. "Go! You…need…to be…there," he managed to get out in a staccato string of words. He didn't want Carter to witness the poison that Elias would surely administer when Elias's plans to kill the Senator were thwarted. He wanted no company during his final moments. He had lived almost his entire life alone, and he wanted his final moments before death to be the same.

"You need help," Carter answered.

John closed his eyes and said, "Please Carter, go to the Senator. He's one of the good ones." John's body began trembling even harder. His teeth chattered.

Simultaneously, Finch yelled "Stop" into John's ear as Carter responded, "Okay, I'll find a blanket for you and then will go after the Senator. But I will be back to help you. Finch is on his way."

John opened his eyes and mouthed, "Okay." He knew it really didn't matter, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He released his right hand from its holding position on the silver rod and reached up and clicked off the ear piece, breaking the connection between him and Finch.

A few minutes later, both Carter and Reese jumped to the shrill of Carter's cell phone.

"It's Finch. I've got to answer and tell him I have found you," Carter said.

Reese knew that Finch already knew what was happening. He had been present through the ear piece.

John closed his eyes. Finch was determined, and John was losing strength trying to oppose both Carter and Finch. Why couldn't Finch just leave well enough alone? It was the right thing to do to save the Senator.

"What?" Carter hopelessly verbalized into her phone.

"If the plans to kill the Senator are interrupted, then John will get a lethal dose of poison. Don't you see the rod and wire? He's apparently connected to a monitor, and Elias has a remote control," Finch enunciated clearly and directly into his cell phone. He would do everything in his power to save his partner. "I'm almost there, but Carter, please understand what this means."

"What?" she repeated. "Oh my God." Carter sat down in a clumsy sprawl beside John. The result of her decision was vast. No one person should ever have to make the decision to save one life over another.

She was a cop. It was her civic duty to save their Senator. She hated to think what their city would be like without the good works and determination of Senator Carmichael Smith.

Exhaling a deep breath, she glanced around the barn and located an old horse blanket strewn over the wall of a stall. She then rose to her feet to get it. Dropping the blanket onto John's torso made him flinch. She had never seen him flinch before. His guard must be down.

She was also human. John Reese needed her. She hated to think what would have happened had Reese not intervened in that alleyway when her CI turned on her. John Reese had become a guardian angel to her and many others. She didn't know why. Regardless of his motivations, he was helping to clean up the streets. He was a good man whether he believed it or not.

She sat back down beside him. Positioning the musty blanket up around his battered face, Carter reached out and pulled Reece into her. He resisted her gesture of help.

"Finch will be here soon, okay? I'll just wait for him and then will go," Carter said.

"No!" John whispered loudly as he exhaled at the same time.

"John, now you listen to me. If you die, then who the hell is going to help me out there on the streets?" she implored.

John stared up at her.

"You told me last year when you saved my life in that alleyway that I wasn't alone. I can't do this alone, John. Don't you understand?" she asked.

As she held him to her, she dialed Fusco with one hand. "Stay put. Don't do anything until I give you orders," Carter said. Fusco answered her in a confused tone of voice but complied with her command.

"You have a civic responsibility to save the Senator," John said. It was his last ditch effort.

Carter looked down at Reese's shuddering body as he spoke.

"I got myself into this. I knew going in what could happen. The Senator is innocent. You have to stop it, Carter. The impact of his death will be greater than mine," John begged.

How could he be so damn pragmatic right now? Carter thought. It was his life. She had witnessed his survival instinct kick in during many difficult situations. But at this moment he seemed so certain that the Senator's life was more valuable than his own. She couldn't be that certain.

"Okay, John, but how the hell do you think I could possibly leave you in this condition?" Carter asked, showing agitation in her tone of voice due to being in such an impossible situation.

"There's not enough time, Carter. Call Fusco again. Tell him to get the Senator out of there. Go help Fusco…please Carter," John whispered in a louder voice.

She began shifting her weight to move herself out from underneath him. She could hear and see his reactions with each move. He was in pain and no longer had the energy to block it out.

Carter dialed her phone. John closed his eyes. He wasn't frightened to die. He never had been. He appreciated her ability to be rational and think about the big picture.

"You need to help me know what the right thing to do is," she said into her phone.

Finch answered, "I can't tell you that, Detective Carter. One has to decide for herself what the right thing to do is. You will have to decide for yourself…you can't save them both."

John recognized that Carter had called Finch and not Fusco. He turned his head to stare directly into her face. He could think of no more words at that moment.

"Shit!" Carter screamed into the phone and then threw it down onto the ground. She shook her head, muttered some incoherent words, and then reached down to pull John Reese closer to her. She had hoped the warmth of her body would help stop the tremors escaping out of his.

John didn't pull away.

Recognizing the sacrifice she was making, John closed his eyes and released the tension from his body, falling closer into her. She then grabbed his bloody hand to hold.

Blood from his battered hand formed an outline of his hand onto hers. His blood was sticky and gritty with dirt. She stayed still so as to not make him feel any more pain than necessary. She continued to hold him close. She had never dreamed that they would be in such a circumstance or that she would be forced to make such a horrific decision.

They both jumped at her cell phone's shrill as it lay beside them on the ground. Carter reached over and picked it up. It was Fusco.

"What's your play, Carter?" Fusco asked.

"Just sit tight, Fusco," she answered.

"It's almost halftime. Are you sure?" he questioned.

"Lionel!" she yelled. Taking in a deep breath and pausing for a moment, Carter continued in a lower and calmer tone, "Yeah, I'm sure. Just stay on the line so I can hear what's going on."

Lionel Fusco, the one-time dirty cop who was now on his own road to redemption by helping vigilante John Reese, did as he was told. He knew there was a lot he didn't know at the present time, but he trusted his partner, Detective Joss Carter. She would always do the right thing.

Putting her phone on speaker and placing it beside them, Carter returned her arms around John's torso. She closed her eyes and started whispering a prayer to God. She prayed that she was doing the right thing.

Five minutes later they both jumped at the shot. It was barely audible but piercing nonetheless. Senator Smith hadn't even made it onto the court. He took one bullet through his brain, throwing him back against the Security Team commissioned by the college to protect their adored Senator. He had died instantaneously. His 13 year career cleaning up his beloved state and making improvements in education and transportation came to a screeching halt. The bullet proof vest he wore under his grey pin-striped suit was worthless.

Carter grabbed John's bloody hand again. He returned his fingers to the same spot on her hand. They could hear the crowd screaming.

"He's down, Carter!" Fusco screamed. "He's down! What the hell, Carter?"

"Just wait there until I call you back, okay? Do nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing!" Carter screamed. She flipped off her phone.

Reese turned his head to look at Carter straight on again. Tears had formed along the bottoms of his eyes.

Carter wanted to vomit. She felt dizzy and nauseous.

There was no going back now.

She loosened the tight muscles in her back as a queue to him to relax. What was done was done.

John closed his eyes, inhaling in a deep breath. He had failed. The pain was getting more and more intense as he was no longer able to block it out. Sleep overcame him.

Five minutes later, Finch shuffled into the front of the barn alongside Dr. Farooq Madan. Dr. Madan was getting accustomed to patching up John Reese upon Harold Finch's adamant requests. Harold Finch always made it worth his while.

Carter looked up to see them coming in. She noted Finch's horrified facial expression when he saw her and their mutual friend. She saw that expression numerous times from family members being told of the deaths of their loved ones.

"He's alive…just sleeping right now," Carter said, turning up her head to look at Finch's face. She then realized that Finch and Reese's partnership was greater than employer-employee. Like herself, Harold Finch had grown to respect and care about this dirty and bloody man who lay within her arms.

Finch breathed out several pent up breaths of air. He hadn't expected to find her still there. He expected to find John Reese dead. He nodded to Carter.

Carter recognized his nod as a thank you. She knew her work there was now done. She nodded back at Finch. Finch didn't need to ask about the Senator's fate.

"Dr. Madan, can you please help up Detective Carter so we can attend to my employee?" Finch asked.

Dr. Madan knelt down to assist Carter.

Carter freed herself from underneath Reese's body. Kneeling down, Carter laid a hand on the side of his face. He startled awake.

"I've got to go now," she said softly to him. "Finch and a doctor are here to help you. You're safe. You're going to be okay."

Reese rotated his eyes to try and find Finch. He located his partner on the other side. They all shifted and turned toward the controller as its buzzing began shutting down. The soft buzz had become white noise in the background. None had noticed it until they heard its absence.

"Finch, please get this thing out of my shoulder," John asked.

Finch smiled. John's request seemed so commonplace for him.

Carter continued to look at Reese's dirty and battered face. He slightly turned up the corners of his mouth to her. She had rarely seen him smile, but when he did, she always thought what a nice smile he had.

But that smile wasn't a smile of happiness for John Reese. He recognized the sacrifice she had made for him, and soon she would be feeling its effects. A tear escaped his eye and ran down her hand still flush against the side of his face. The bloody outline of his hand was still etched across the light brown skin of her hand.

She allowed tears to also fall from her eyes.

"It's okay, John. I did what I needed to do," she said softly to him.

Dr. Madan and Finch continued to stand nearby without making a move. They were waiting for Carter and Reese to find closure to what had transpired between them. They were owed that.

Blinking again and allowing another tear to escape through his eyes, Reese stated in a raspy voice, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Carter answered, clearing her throat. She then got up to leave, knowing her captain would be calling her cell phone to direct her to the scene of the crime at the Sports Center.

At the doorway, she turned around to see Finch and Dr. Madan beginning to work on John. She had never seen anyone as battered and bruised and still alive in her entire life. He was a fighter. He was a man on a mission who had a cause, a score to settle. She knew she had done the right thing. John Reese was a good man.

"Stay with us, Mr. Reese," Dr. Madan stated loudly in his heavy Indian accent. John's eyes had begun rolling up into his head.

"Look at me, okay, Mr. Reese?" Finch commanded.

Reese opened his eyes. He could see Finch's worried expression. He had never seen such an expression for him from anyone.

"Stay with me, John," Finch begged.

Reese could hear Finch's words before he went to another place in his head.

This place was with Jessica. He saw her again at the airport.

"In the end we're all alone, and no one's coming to save you," his mind replayed.

"You don't believe that…not really," he heard her say again.

He had at that time believed that. He had no reason at that time to believe otherwise. He had always been alone. He had always fended for himself.

"Mr. Reese! John!" he could hear overtop Jessica's words.

"All alone…and no one's coming…to save you," Reese stammered. He could hear Finch ask the doctor what John had said.

Dr. Madan hadn't understood either.

"John!" Finch screamed, turning John's face toward his own.

Reese opened his eyes. "Guess I'm not alone, Mr. Finch," John whispered aloud.

"No, Mr. Reese, you're not alone," Finch answered. "Stay with me, John."

"Thank you, Harold," John said, "for coming to save me."

"You're going to be just fine, John," Finch said.

Finch helped the doctor begin to clean the dirt and blood off his face. They jerked the silver rod from his shoulder to free John of his tether to Elias. Carl Elias would never have a hold over his partner again.

"Let's get him out of here," Dr. Madan stated.

Finch started to stand to go and get the car to drive it into the barn so he and Dr. Madan could more easily get John into the car.

"I'm not alone anymore, am I, Finch?" Reese repeated, looking up at his partner, his friend.

"No, John, you're not alone anymore," Finch answered, turning toward the door to get the car to take John to safety.

The End.

A/N: Thank you all for reading...and posting comments. I'm new to POI Fanfiction, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised at the positive reception of my little story here. I hope the muse will strike again and give me another POI story to tell. I love these characters and find them very intriguing.


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